


A Subtle Distinction

by perletwo



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 01:19:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perletwo/pseuds/perletwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson is revived as an LMD. But is it live, or is it Memorex?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Subtle Distinction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tawg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/gifts).



> For those not fluent in Jossverse, the Rossum Corporation is the shadowy entity behind the Dollhouse. Written for the [Clint/Coulson Holiday Exchange.](http://cc-exchange.livejournal.com/)

“I don’t care if it is based on Stark-tech, the thing is just creepy,” Tony insisted, and raised his faceplate to down his first shot of coffee.

Sprawled in a chair opposite him, Natasha fixed him with a glare. “That ‘thing,’ for all intents and purposes, _is_ Agent Coulson,” she replied icily. “It has a perfect replica of his psyche, all his memories and thought patterns, based on an extensive brain scan SHIELD made using Rossum Corporation technology. Fury thought it best to make backups of several ranking SHIELD agents before their tech was destroyed, then buried the drives so deep almost nobody realized they still existed.”

“Do _you_ have a backup?” he shot back.

Unease flickered in her eyes for a fraction of a second. “I lack the necessary clearances, and so wasn’t presented with the opportunity.”

Tony stabbed a steel-clad index finger in Natasha’s direction. “Ah-hah, but you _wouldn’t_ have. Would you?” Her lips thinned and she continued to glare, but kept silent.

Bruce settled into a chair between the two, set his mug on the table and dunked a tea strainer in and out of the hot water. “I’m not sure it works quite the way you describe, Natasha, at least not in this case,” he mused, and both broke off their staring contest to turn to him.

“How so?” 

Bruce lifted the mug and blew gingerly across the liquid’s surface. “Well, the LMD may have Coulson’s memories, but it didn’t share in the experiences. Experiences are what build and strengthen connections between neurotransmitters, and the more intense or more often repeated, the deeper those networks are embedded in the gray matter,” he said after a thoughtful sip. “Neurologically speaking, you really do have to _be_ there. In this case, the most deeply traumatic event of Phil Coulson’s life may be experienced by the LMD simply as a fact, a thing that happened with no more or less significance than any other.”

Tony _hmmm_ ’ed. “Interesting. Do we know if they’re still doing scans on the thing’s brain? Because I know a good neuro, and if we could get our hands on ‘em I betcha -”

“ _Phil,_ ” Natasha broke in, voice like the rap of a wooden ruler over bare knuckles. “ _The thing_ is _Phil,_ in every way that matters.”

“For now, maybe.”

All heads swiveled to the fourth occupant of the breakfast table. Nobody could quite formulate a response, and Steve kept his head down, gaze focused on stirring his bowl of oatmeal.

“It has agency,” he said eventually. “Now that it’s active, I mean. It’ll make its own choices, use its own judgment. I mean, sure, it’ll use Agent Coulson’s knowledge base and memories and I guess probably some or most or even all of his core values. But the choices, those’ll be its own. I mean, who here can really say they _know_ if Phil Coulson would do what it decides to do when the chips are down? That they knew the real him _that_ well?”

No one answered. But Natasha’s eyes slid over to the window, to a sliver of black Kevlar perched on a ledge at the corner of their floor of the tower, and wondered.

 

“All right, Avengers, I believe that’s it for today.” Agent Coulson rose and shuffled a small stack of papers into order, slid them into a folder, and watched the team rise still bickering from the table and head toward the door. “Barton? Could I have a moment, please?”

Clint shrugged and dropped back from the crowd at the door. Natasha cut her eyes his way; he nodded, and with a fractional shift of focus she departed with the rest.

“Problem, boss?” Clint slouched against the edge of the conference table and studied his hands.

“Not as your boss, no.” Phil took a step closer, tilted his head. “I – I just wondered if – if you’ve thought any more about – what we talked about yesterday.”

“When you tried to kiss me.” _Only every freakin’ minute,_ Clint thought.

“If it was unease over my – my change in status – I’d understand, Clint. But this, these feelings, are still something I’d like to explore with you. If I thought the – interest – wasn’t mutual, that’d be one thing, but the thing is, I know you. I know your tells, and I’ve known for a long time now you’ve felt this thing we’ve had simmering between us.”

Clint continued staring at his hands. “Don’t get why you’d wanna do something about it _now_ , I guess.”

Phil sighed, and a hand twitched in Clint’s direction once before he reined it back in.

“Because I died,” he began, and Clint turned away. “I – the other me – we’d thought about it a lot, dying. The job being what it is. We always thought it would be better if we just took these feelings with us to the grave. Better for you, I mean. But now we’re here, and you’re torn up over what happened to me anyway, and by some miracle I’ve got what feels like a second chance. One I don’t want to let go to waste.”

Barton’s fingers twitched inward. “Wish you’d stop sayin’ that. You didn’t just _die._ I _killed_ you, Phil.”

“Loki -”

“- never would’a got close enough to stab you without me,” Clint finished. “ _My_ plan, _my_ intel, _my_ actions. I’ve asked myself over and over how can you still want me after what I’ve done, and the only answer I can come up with is that you’re not _you._ ” With that, he pushed away from the table and headed for the door.  
“Clint.” Phil stretched out a hand, but Barton was already gone.

 

Things came to a head, naturally, in the heat of battle.

An army of Doombots was rampaging through Times Square, and the Avengers were on the case with Agent Coulson coordinating their efforts via radio from atop the Jumbotron. All was going well until a stray energy beam caught Hawkeye square in the chest and hurled him backwards into a brick wall, knocking him unconscious.

“Sitwell, you got a vantage point to take over for me?” Coulson called, voice high and tight.

“Got it, boss. Go get ‘em.” With that acknowledgment, Coulson slung an AK-47 over his shoulder, attached a grapple hook to the edge of the screen and rappelled to the ground. He hit it running and got to Hawkeye’s position as quickly as possible. While calling for a medic, he provided cover fire to keep him clear of the ‘bots, and took the shuttle back up to the Helicarrier with him.

Clint regained consciousness while en route. “You shouldn’t be here,” he slurred.

“Where else?” Phil gave him a soft smile.

“Out there. Doin’ the job.” Clint waved a hand vaguely; the drugs were taking hold already.

“Battle’s almost over,” he replied. “They’ll get along fine with Sitwell, and there’s noplace I’d rather be.”

“Should’a – should’a left me – let me…” Clint’s voice dissolved into tears, and the medic looked up.

Phil waved him back. “It’s okay. This is a long time coming; he’s been working through a mess of PTSD and survivor’s guilt for a while now.”

“Not - _survivor’s_ ,” Clint tried to mutter. Phil stopped him by laying a hand along his cheek.

Despite himself, Clint relaxed into the warm touch and let the tears subside. “Okay,” he mumbled. “Okay, you win.”

“What do I win?” he replied with a chuckle.

“You get to be Phil.” Clint sighed. “Cause I don’t think I can do this without one.”

Phil checked the impulse to kiss him in front of the medic. “Barton, you’re never going to have to. That’s a promise.”


End file.
